by Savanna Fox
She wouldn’t have lowered her defenses and let herself love him again. She wouldn’t have let herself hope.
He didn’t want to have kids—or at least, not with her. How could she not have known that? When did he change his mind and why didn’t he say anything? His silence felt like a betrayal. How could he think that her clinic had taken the place of children in her life, her heart? Didn’t he know her at all?
Exhausted and aching, she managed to turn away from the closed door and plod down the hall.
Fine, she’d been stupid, and now she knew better. It was what it was, as people were so fond of saying. Last night, shattered, she’d cried until she was drained, shivery, and nauseous. No more of that. She’d never been a person to weep and wail. It didn’t change a damn thing except make her feel even more miserable—though at the moment, she wasn’t sure that was possible.
But she had to get on with things. Keep busy. Be practical.
Dax had dropped her suitcase in the closet. She unpacked methodically. Her beautiful new dress—the dress she’d worn when her marriage ended—went into the dry-cleaning bag. She’d donate it to the thrift shop at Vancouver General Hospital.
Tonight and tomorrow—a statutory holiday, so the clinic would be closed—she’d pull together financial information to give the divorce lawyer. She also had to finish Bound by Desire. Usually, she relied on intellectual novels to distract her from her problems, but perhaps the current book club selection would do the same. After all, she’d left off when Neville was taking Cassandra to a BDSM club. That might not be to her taste, but it wasn’t likely to be boring.
She went to the kitchen to make herself a martini. Who cared that it was only two thirty on a Sunday afternoon?
Where to settle and read? Every place in the apartment held a memory of Dax. She should sell the condo. Find a new home that would be hers alone. No, a new home where she could raise a child or two.
She needed to make a fresh start. Find a new man. Or go to a sperm bank. That was a smarter idea than getting into the whole messy, frustrating, painful confusion of another male-female relationship. Not that she’d likely ever find a man who attracted her anyhow.
Stop. She pressed her fingers to her temples. Yes, she needed a fresh start but this was not the time to plan it, with her heart shattered into dozens of tiny, aching pieces.
She curled into a corner of the living room couch, took a hearty slug of her martini, and began to read. Soon her mind was reeling. Neville hadn’t followed through on his threat to give Cassandra to other men, but he did make a public display of her at Top and Bottom, the BDSM club. In front of a group of avid voyeurs, he stuffed a butt plug into her, tormented her with nipple clamps, had her suck his penis, and stripped her naked. He told her she wasn’t to climax or he’d walk away from her. Cassandra at first felt embarrassed and titillated, then powerfully aroused. Never did she want to say her safe word.
At the end of the chapter, Lily shook her head. Nope, not exactly her idea of fun. Not that she was going to let herself think about her idea of fun, because that would mean thinking about Dax. She turned the page.
With club members watching, Neville cuffed Cassandra’s ankles to the ends of a spreader bar, and cuffed her wrists to the bar between them. Her body was bowed over, her sex exposed, and she could barely even wriggle. He flogged her until she screamed with the inextricably mingled sensations of pain and pleasure, then he took the butt plug out and substituted his swollen cock. Her arousal mounted unbearably and she whimpered, cried, and begged him to let her come. Finally, as he climaxed forcefully inside her, he told her she could come and she exploded in the fiercest orgasm of her life—filled too with an amazing sense of power and joy at being able to give this incredible man such pleasure. After, he praised her, uncuffed her, cradled her tenderly in his arms, and carried her away.
Mulling over what she’d read, Lily rose and made herself a second martini. To her surprise, she found something in common with Cassandra. She could relate to the woman’s delight at being the sex partner who did something so wild and forbidden with an incredible man, and gave him such a powerful experience. As Lily had done with Dax in that marble bathroom stall.
Not going to think of Dax.
Martini in hand, she turned to the next chapter.
The night after their visit to the club, Cassandra woke in Neville’s bed. He brought breakfast on a tray, feeding her strawberries and bits of flaky croissant from his fingers. A gift-wrapped box sat on the tray, but he didn’t mention it so neither did she, despite her almost unbearable curiosity.
“Last night was the best night of your life,” he said.
“Y-yes, master. Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?”
“It means you’re a beautiful, sensual submissive. My submissive.”
A delicious sense of well-being flowed through her. Neville thought she was beautiful and sensual. Of all those amazingly sexy women at the club, she was the one he wanted.
“We’re special, you and I.” He stroked her cheek then held out another strawberry. “We’re not normal, not average. We belong to an elite group like the others at Top and Bottom.”
Elite. That sounded very good. No, of course there wasn’t anything wrong with her, or with Neville or any of the people at that club. They were special.
“You came to me to find out who you truly are, Cassandra. You know now, don’t you?”
She gazed up at this striking, confident man who’d taught her everything. Who’d made her see the truth. “Yes. I’m a submissive and I’m special. And I’m yours.” That was all she wanted in the world, to be his. “I want to please you, master.”
“You do, my pet. You please me very much.”
Those words sent such joy through her, she trembled with it.
“It is my pleasure to take care of your needs,” he went on. “I did that last night, yes?”
“Oh yes, master. It was incredible.”
“I’m doing it now, bringing you breakfast.”
“You are so good to me.”
“You trust me now, to know what’s best for you.”
“I do, master.” More than that, she realized. He’d come to mean everything to her. “I trust you and I love you.”
His face lit. “My pet, I love you too. You belong to me and I belong to you. You complete me. You are the first woman who has touched my heart.”
His words filled her with deep, pure joy. “You’re the first man to touch mine, master. You complete me too.” It was true. She’d never have become her true self without Neville.
“We were made for each other.”
“I never thought it was possible to find this kind of love.”
He took the jewelry box off the tray and handed it to her. “This gift is a symbol of our love. If you wear it, you pledge yourself to me as I pledge myself to you.”
Breathless with excitement, she untied the ribbon, ripped off the foil wrapping paper, and opened the box. “Oh!” It was a gold choker necklace with a diamond-studded heart. The heart formed the clasp, and had a tiny lock. “It’s stunning, master.”
He reached in his pocket and held up a miniature key. “I have the only key.”
If she allowed him to lock the collar around her neck, she was saying he did truly own her and she was his submissive. The choker was subtle enough that no one outside the BDSM scene would have a clue of the symbolism, but those in that elite world would understand. She couldn’t wait to feel the cool gold around her neck. She bowed her head and held the necklace out to him. “Please put it on me, master.”
He took it from her hands and deftly locked it in place, then put his fingers under her chin to raise her head. “Let me see. Ah yes, so lovely.”
The heart settled in the hollow at the base of her throat, nestling against the vulnerable spot where her pulse throbbed. She smiled up at him. For the first time in her life, she belonged, she was loved.
“We’ll have a beautiful life,” he told h
er. “You know that I’m wealthy?”
“Wealthy enough to stay in the penthouse suite in a very expensive hotel.”
He gave a rich, throaty chuckle. “You have no idea, Cassandra. If I wished, I could buy this hotel with a snap of my fingers. Now here’s what we’ll do. You’ll give up your job and we’ll travel. I’ll show you my penthouse in Manhattan, the apartment in London, the villas in the south of France and in Italy, the yacht in the Caribbean. You’ll have clothes and jewels from the finest designers. We’ll dine at the best restaurants, go to the theater, and visit the exclusive clubs designed for people like us.”
Dazed, she said, “Seriously? It’s like a dream come true, master. Except I’ve never in my life had such an incredible dream.” Since she was seventeen, she’d had to work for a living and she’d assumed she always would. She’d worked hard, achieved success, but it was so stressful always having to perform, so exhausting always traveling. So lonely all the time. He was saying she could give all that up, and live a life of luxury at the side of the man she loved?
“That dream will be your life now, my pet.”
“Oh master, I love you so much.”
And there it ended. Lily put down her Kindle with a clatter. “And they sailed off into the sunset together,” she muttered bitterly. Was she in too cynical a mood to appreciate romance of any kind, or was this happily-ever-after ending particularly unbelievable? It would be interesting to see what the rest of the book club thought.
And now, in the opposite of a happily ever after, she had to start pulling together the paperwork to start the divorce. The sooner it was done, the more easily she’d be able to move on.
Or at least so she hoped.
Twenty-seven
Late the next afternoon, Monday, Dax walked into the minuscule room he’d left a week and a half ago.
The mining camp was well established, not a tent city like some but instead made of modular units. Sleeping rooms were strung in rows off hallways, with central facilities for dining, exercise, and relaxation. Each bedroom held a single bed and a desk with drawers for storing clothes and personal items. At some jobs, he’d had to share a tent, and Dax valued the privacy here. He didn’t mind eating and using the gym with others, playing some poker, or watching a game on TV. But he was enough of a loner that, when weather or darkness kept him inside, he spent much of his time lying on his bed reading.
He hadn’t done much to personalize the room. A few sketches of wildlife that one of the guys had done were taped to the wall. Helicopter magazines sat on the desk.
Also on the desk was a framed photo of him and Lily, taken one long-ago summer. They’d holidayed on Galiano Island, rented kayaks, and found a beach to picnic on. Another picnicker took their picture. Lily was in a blue bikini, Dax in board shorts. Her hair, longer then, was pulled back in a ponytail but the breeze had tugged strands free to dance around her face. His arm was around her shoulders, hers around his waist, and they both smiled widely, eyes squinting against the sun. It was no fancy portrait like the ones from their wedding, but they’d been young, in love, having fun, and it showed.
Dax sank down on the bed. When he’d left for Vancouver, he’d figured he and Lily might end their marriage. He’d thought he was resigned to it. That breaking up couldn’t feel worse than being alone here and worrying whether she was cheating on him, whether they still loved each other.
Well, it did feel worse. Now he knew how Lily felt: she loved him, but not enough. And he knew that he loved her, but couldn’t be what she wanted.
What had she meant when she said, “Can’t be or don’t want to be?”
From across the tiny room, he stared at her smiling face. That young Lily had been happy with him just the way he was. What did the thirty-two-year-old Lily want? A husband who’d live with her and raise children with her. A home and family. Dax had told her he couldn’t be that man. She’d implied that he didn’t want to.
Once, he’d wanted that—or at least dreamed of it, of a real home and loving family, something he’d never experienced. Later, as he and Lily followed their parallel courses, he’d decided the dream was foolish. That he wasn’t that kind of guy.
He stacked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Why had he given up on that dream? Yes, he loved the energy and peace of the wilderness. He loved flying: the challenge, the freedom, the way it offered serenity one moment, excitement the next. But he loved Lily too. Did loving one mean having to sacrifice the other?
He didn’t like how Lily always put her clinic ahead of him. But hadn’t he done the same thing, choosing work that kept him away from her for long stretches of time? Yeah, at the time he’d been messed up, after Afghanistan. He’d believed he needed the wilderness to heal his soul and make him fit company for his wife. Maybe so, but he’d shut her out, and kept doing it for the last four years.
As for children . . . Holding baby Sophia had made him feel warm and fuzzy—but the idea of being responsible for a kid terrified him. His parents had sure sucked at it. Lily’s were no prize either—and his wife didn’t seem to have a clue how she’d juggle work with these kids she supposedly wanted so badly.
He and Lily had handled going to school in different cities and they’d handled his deployment to Afghanistan. Things ought to be easier now, not more fucked up. The two of them weren’t stupid, so—
Wait a minute. Maybe they were. On New Year’s Eve, they’d admitted that they still loved each other. And then they’d broken up. From the perspective of a couple of days’ distance, that seemed pretty damned stupid to him.
The timer on his watch beeped, and he rose. He had another supply run—a short, hour-long one to the closest town—before the workday was done. As he strode to the door, he cast a final glance at Lily’s lovely smiling face. The next he heard from her, it would be with details of their divorce.
Twenty-eight
Lily felt like an automaton as she walked into the warm, welcoming ambiance of the Copper Chimney. George had chosen the Indian fusion restaurant and bar for the club’s first meeting of the new year, and she and Marielle were sitting in a corner table at the back. Side by side on a bench seat—the way Lily and Dax had sat on New Year’s Eve—in animated conversation, they didn’t see Lily. No surprise; she felt like a shadow of her real self.
So far, she’d spent the statutory holiday summarizing her and Dax’s finances, then had taken the relevant documents to the clinic to photocopy. From the Internet, she selected a divorce lawyer and e-mailed to request an appointment. The lawyer had been working—or at least checking e-mail—today, and now Lily had an appointment for late Wednesday afternoon.
Divorce. She and Dax were getting a divorce. She no longer felt shattered, as she had on New Year’s Eve. Now she was numb and empty, but for persistent dull aches in head and heart. As a doctor, she understood shock, physical and emotional. It could take time for reality to sink in, for the most profound pain to make itself felt—and when it did, it could bring you to your knees. She had to keep that from happening, had to hold herself together. Not only did she still have issues at the clinic to deal with, but there’d be all the hassle involved with a divorce.
She’d have to tell her parents. They’d say, “You should have listened when we said you shouldn’t marry him.”
On leaden feet, she approached George and Marielle’s table. At least she had this hour of distraction and she’d do her best to enjoy it.
“Hi, Lily,” George said. “Happy New Year.” Marielle echoed the greeting. They both looked happy and vibrant, George in a blue sweater that made her red hair even fierier, and dark-haired Marielle in a pink and orange striped top.
“You too.” Lily took the chair across from Marielle and shrugged out of her coat. A new year, and everything felt overwhelming. Hopeless, almost. But she was strong; she’d always been strong. It was one of the qualities Dax said he admired in her.
“Are you all right?” George’s amber eyes narrowed with concern. “You
look, uh, tired.”
“I am.” So tired that she’d like to lay her head on the table and sleep. Except she wouldn’t sleep. For the past two nights, she hadn’t. What she needed was conversation, a stimulating analysis of the issues raised in Bound by Desire. A martini.
The waitress arrived at the same time that Kim hurried in and took the chair beside Lily. Today, the highlights in her spiky black hair were yellow and the design on her scarf looked like bird wings in yellow, orange, and black.
They ordered drinks and snacks then Kim pulled envelopes from her canary-yellow bag. “We’re having an engagement party!”
Just what Lily needed. She ripped open the envelope and, despite her misery, Kim’s artwork almost brought a smile. The artist who was fascinated by wings and was marrying a cowboy had incorporated a dragonfly and a horse in the design. A quick glance showed that Marielle’s and George’s cards had similar motifs, but each was unique.
Lily opened the card. The party was a week from now. “Monday? Instead of book club?”
“I figured you’d all be free, and we did finish the book a week early, right?”
“Right. I’m surprised you found a venue on such short notice.”
George raised a hand. “Woody’s and my condo. Luckily, he’ll be in town and doesn’t have a game.”
“Marielle found a terrific caterer,” Kim said. “A recent graduate who’s setting up his own business. I swear, Marielle knows everyone.”
“You tease me about how I keep changing jobs,” Marielle said, “but I learn something at each one, and I make contacts. Whatever you need, I bet I can find it for you.”
“That’s a valuable asset,” Lily said. “You should be a concierge.”
“Or a personal shopper,” Kim put in.
“Guess I should think about what I’m going to do next,” Marielle said cheerfully. “The holiday’s over.” She turned to Kim. “Your parents going to hang around town for the party?”
“No, they went back to Hong Kong this morning. They hate leaving their company for too long. Ty’s folks are coming, though, and some ranch staff and friends from the Fraser Valley. Lily, Dax is invited, of course. And Marielle, feel free to bring one of your various admirers.”